


Time Bomb

by Sweeticing



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Bebe's Instagram, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Cartman Got Therapy, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, High School, Kyman Secret Santa 2017, M/M, Marijuana, New Year's Eve, Oblivious Kyle, Pining Eric, Stan And Kenny's Debatable Counseling, but he's still an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-14 14:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweeticing/pseuds/Sweeticing
Summary: Cartman got therapy, Kyle has a hard-on, and New Year’s Eve remains a cause for celebratory champagne even if you’re locked in a bathroom with your worst enemy.





	Time Bomb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shortstackedcheesecake96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortstackedcheesecake96/gifts).



> Dear shortstackedkyman, I am so happy to have been able to write this for you for Kyman Secret Santa 2017! You're a great writer in the fandom, so I tried my best to give you a quality fic. This ended up being the longest one-shot I've written and the longest fic I've written period in the last four years or so. I know you wanted fluff, and I apologize if this has too much angst for that... I am not naturally a fluffy writer. But I at least made sure there were some funny moments.
> 
> As for the boys' ages in this fic, it's hovering around 16-17, but I couldn't narrow it down exactly in my head so I left it open to interpretation. I didn't have a beta for this but spent a lot of time editing it. I'm sure I'll find some basic typos as soon as I post it.
> 
> And if you like music, I decided to compile all the songs I listened to while writing this fic into a fanmix. I'll include the link here if you're interested. Sorry that you have to go to youtube to listen to some of them; I wish 8tracks was what it used to be.
> 
> https://playmoss.com/en/macdennis/playlist/sometimes-people-just-want-something
> 
> I think that's about it... Please enjoy and Happy Holidays!

“Champagne, if you are seeking the truth, is better than a lie detector.”

\- Graham Greene

 

* * *

 

It was just past eleven when Kyle and Cartman, who had been arguing in the kitchen for upwards of an hour already, were shoved into the bathroom by an angry mob of their classmates. Cartman immediately started yelling.

“Fuck you Kenny! Open the goddamn door!” He jiggled the doorknob, furious. “I'd break all your Christmas presents but I know you didn't get any, you poor asshole!”

“Just shut up, fat-ass,” Kyle said sourly. He was seated on the floor with his legs crossed. Eyes shut, he was breathing deeply and trying very, very hard to keep his cool. As usual, Cartman wasn't making it easy. “They're not letting us out.”

“Kyle's right,” Kenny taunted. Kyle could hear the drunken smirk on his face. “You guys just couldn’t wait until 12:01 to start bitching at each other, could you? Needed to get in another round before the new year, huh? Well, guess what? We’re not having it! We have to listen to you two every other day of the fucking year, we deserve one night free of it! Who's with me?”

A chorus of loud, slurred agreements rang out from the other side of the door.

“I'll let you out early if you behave yourselves!” chirped Bebe, sounding especially inebriated. “I'm waiting for my New Years' kiss, Kyle!” 

“You're gonna make me spend the countdown in here with Kyle?” Cartman said, seething. “Do Jews even celebrate New Year's?” Enraged, he hit the door with his fist. It bounced off harmlessly and he cradled his hand and had the nerve to look victimized. Someone outside turned the bass on the speakers up high enough to shake the potpourri on the toilet.

“Calm down, moron,” Kyle said, eyebrow twitching. “If I have to be in here all night I'm not listening to you whine while everybody else gets to pop champagne.”

Cartman turned on his heel and pointed at Kyle threateningly.

“Oh yeah? What else am I supposed to do!” He spread his arms wide. “Look around you! We're not just stuck in any bathroom, we're in Clyde's bathroom! The fumes from his shit residue alone are surely killing us!”

“Dude,” Kyle said, “Clyde's mom actually died in here.”

“Like I give a fuck!” Cartman shouted. He waved a hand at Kyle impatiently. “Why are you so calm? What the hell are you even doing anyway?”

“Well, Cartman, even though you _clearly_ started our fight by thinking it would be 'funny' to demonstrate George H. W. Bush's creepy pick-up line on me and grab my ass, and I frankly don't understand how any of them can think I deserve the same treatment as you, my New Year's resolution is to find solitude within myself, so I’m using this opportunity to get a head start,” Kyle said. His head swam with the effects of drugs and alcohol. “Also, I already took a few shots and smoked a joint with Token.”

“Okay, first off, Bush is in a wheelchair now, you really shouldn't speak ill of the disabled, and secondly, I should've known you would smoke without me, you greedy Jew!” Cartman waved a finger at him accusingly. Kyle's eyes snapped open.

“For the last time, Bush isn't disabled, he's just old!” he reprimanded. He realized he was standing with his fists clenched at his sides and made an effort to relax them. He exhaled deeply. “I'm putting my foot down. No more Jew jokes,” he demanded. “No more dumbass comments. We're going to sit here in silence until somebody opens that door.”

“They're not jokes, Kyle,” Cartman said, monotone. “They're straight up facts.”

Kyle rounded on him, growling, and already hating himself for being so easy to provoke. He grabbed Cartman by the collar of his burgundy dress shirt (because of course Cartman had splurged on a fancy New Year's outfit) and pushed him up against the door. Cartman already had his hands up in surrender, ready to placate him.

“Okay, okay Kyle, I'm sorry,” Cartman said. “I'm being an asshole, look, I'm just drunk, come on man.”

“No more jokes,” Kyle said, “got it?” He gave Cartman an extra shake for emphasis and stared at him intently. Cartman stared back, wide-eyed. He nodded. Then his eyes flickered down to Kyle's mouth for less than a second. Fast enough that Kyle would've missed it, if he wasn't paying such close attention.

He stepped back from Cartman, giving him a little shove, and suddenly felt awkward. Usually, he'd take this moment to put some distance between them and mutter under his breath about Cartman's complete lack of potential as a human being. But Kenny had cruelly robbed him of that ability when he stuck the two of them in here together. Kyle could barely take three steps before his back hit the windowsill. He groaned inwardly and leaned against the wall, casting a quick glance in Cartman's direction. The other boy was sighing in relief and leaning back against the counter, trying to rearrange his shirt collar.

Normally, Kyle would forget that last quick look Cartman had given him, the one that made the mood shift just enough that Kyle was forced to consider the position they were in: pressed up against the door, their legs just barely touching, faces close enough they could feel each others' breath and Kyle could tell Cartman was wearing cologne and just the _faintest_ bit of eyeliner. Normally, he'd ignore all of that.

But his brain wasn't providing him with much other food for thought at the moment. Not in these close quarters.

He had noticed it lately. Of course he had. Every time he had Cartman up against the wall after one of his bigoted comments, Cartman had to give him that look, eyes flashing. Kyle had mentioned it to Stan and Kenny once and only once. It was a mistake he'd since been careful not to repeat.

_They were sitting in Stan's living room, watching Animal Planet (Stan's TV, Stan's rules). Kenny cleared his throat and stared meaningfully at Stan, who pulled at his collar nervously._

“ _So,” Stan said, “Kyle?”_

“ _Yeah dude?” Kyle said distractedly. At some point he'd actually gotten invested in sea turtle migration patterns._

“ _You and Cartman,” Stan made an extremely vague gesture. “What's that about?” Kyle frowned._

“ _Oh my god,” Kyle shook his head. “I know right? He's been such an asshole lately.”_

_Stan glanced at Kenny, who nodded._

“ _Actually, Kyle,” Stan said, “me and Kenny think he hasn't been that bad lately. No wild schemes or anything. Not since he came back from inpatient at Park County Psychiatric. Even Wendy agreed.”_

_Kyle blinked._

“ _What are you trying to say?” he said slowly._

“ _Well, Kenny and I were talking,” Stan said, “and we just feel like there might be something else going on. You've been pretty hard on Cartman recently. Just hear me out,” Stan raised his hands in defense at Kyle's look of disbelief. “We just noticed your arguments lately have been getting more and more... Physical.”_

_Kyle's jaw dropped as he looked between Kenny and Stan, who both seemed to be taking this seriously._

“ _You're fucking with me,” Kyle said. “You're holding an intervention because you think I'm too hard on Cartman?”_

“ _No,” Kenny said, “we're holding an intervention because we think you have a hard-on for Cartman.”_

_Stan threw Kenny a dirty look at the same time Kyle turned bright green._

“ _I—okay, what?” Kyle spluttered. “What are you even talking about?”_

“ _Dude, Kyle, don't panic,” Stan said, “we get it. I mean, we don't_ get _it, obviously, but it's okay if you are.”_

“ _If I'm what?” Kyle squeaked._

“ _Gay for Cartman,” Stan said uneasily._

“ _Okay, no,” Kyle shook his head. “Just stop. This is getting ridiculous. Cartman is the one who keeps checking_ me _out!”_

_Stan bit his lip and Kenny clapped a hand to his mouth before he could laugh._

“ _It's true!” Kyle said, running a hand through his hair frantically. “He keeps staring at my mouth and I'm like, whoah, dude! You guys have noticed that, right? It's freaking me out!”_

_"Look, Ky," Kenny said, "I'm just going to be real with you. You and Cartman are a ticking time bomb. Everybody's waiting for you to go off. Most people think you're gonna kill each other when you do, but we know you better. Honestly, the way you pin Cartman to the wall these days is borderline pornographic. You gaze into each others' eyes with the most unresolved sexual tension I've seen since Jim and Pam."_

_Stan frowned._

“ _I thought we decided on a Star Wars reference over the Office,” he said._

_“Kyle loves the Office,” Kenny insisted. "Besides, Star Wars is too dated."  
_

“ _But the new movie just came out. If anything, the Office is less relevant now.”_

“ _That is NOT,” Kyle gasped, “I do NOT—”_

“ _Okay, okay,” Stan said, putting a hand on Kyle's shoulder. “Maybe this was a mistake. Let's just drop it."_

“ _We'll come back to this when you're ready,” Kenny said gently._

_Kyle looked back and forth between them, mouth gaping, before standing and attempting to compose himself._

“ _Cartman is a racist, bigoted asshole,” he said stiffly, “and just because he was committed for a month does not mean I'm gay for him. Or ever will be.”_

He had stomped out of Stan's house, heart racing, and jogged around the block three times before heading home and screaming into his pillow.

Because he was not gay for Cartman, because Cartman was Cartman, because Cartman was still spewing antisemitic bullshit every day, and Kyle doesn't feel anything when they touch, and Kyle definitely didn't miss him while he was at inpatient. Because Kyle was reasonable and being gay for Cartman was not reasonable. At all.

Why couldn't they just let him out of this goddamn bathroom?

“I feel like if this were happening in elementary school,” Kyle lamented, “you would have a flamethrower in your back pocket as part of a subplot about fire-spinning or something and we'd already be out of here.”

“Yeah,” Cartman sighed. “Too bad I've only got this.” He pulled a pink bottle out of seemingly nowhere.

“What the fuck?” Kyle said. “What is that?”

“Champagne,” Cartman said, licking his lips. “It's no Dom Perignon, but god I love the sweet shit.”

“Have you had that this whole time? Where were you keeping it?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Cartman said, raising an eyebrow. Kyle blushed in spite of himself. “And before you ask, no, I'm not sharing, because I'm the one that brought it, so it's mine.”

Kyle crossed his arms. God, Cartman was such a brat. Exhibit A, Stan and Kenny: how could anyone in their right mind find THIS attractive?

“Okay,” Kyle said coolly. “If you want to get blackout drunk while I'm here, sobering up and completely in control of the situation, be my guest.” He was sure this would be a difficult internal problem for Cartman: put himself in a vulnerable position stuck in a room with his mortal enemy or, god forbid, share. He watched the conflict play out on his face.

“Alright, fine,” Cartman surrendered eventually. “You can have a few sips. A few.” He held the bottle out in front of his crotch like a dick and snickered. “Okay, stand back, this is gonna be sick.”

Kyle barely had a second to sidestep to the left and dodge before Cartman popped the cork, sending it ricocheting off the ceiling, just missing the light, and shattering the bathroom window. Cartman whooped and took a swig of pure fizz.

“Jesus Christ, Cartman!” Kyle yelled. “That thing could've taken my fucking eye out!”

“If you were going for a Christmas Story reference, you're a little late. Kyle, what the fuck!” Cartman gasped indignantly as Kyle yanked the champagne bottle out of his hands and took two big gulps.

“You asshole!” Cartman whined.

“Oh, I'm an asshole now?” Kyle said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He wasn't into sugary drinks but sobriety was not on the table. “I thought I was a greedy Jew.”

“You can be both,” Cartman grumbled. Kyle glared at him. “Okay, Jesus. Sorry.” He took two deep breaths and looked, to Kyle's surprise, like he'd actually evened out.

Then Cartman said, as if he was reading a script, “I am sorry for calling you a greedy Jew, Kyle. I know you don't like it, and I was being rude. I promise I won't call you a greedy Jew again.” He paused, bit the inside of his cheek. “For tonight,” he clarified.

They stared at each other, Cartman somehow looking expectant.

“Okay, what,” Kyle said, “was that?”

“What?” Cartman said self-consciously.

“That whole apology. That was... super weird, dude.” Kyle narrowed his eyes.

“Goddamnit,” Cartman swore under his breath, “I knew that hippie bullshit wouldn't work.” He gestured dismissively. “It was a therapy thing, okay? Forget it.”

Kyle stared.

“Are you saying you just tried to use something you learned in therapy? In real life?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cartman sighed.

“To diffuse conflict?”

“Yes, Kyle,” Cartman said irritably. “Don't be an asshole about it.”

“Huh,” Kyle said. “Huh.” His mind was having trouble wrapping around the concept. It seemed like a good time to take another drink. “They didn't lobotomize you, did they?”

“Seriously, stop,” said Cartman.

Kyle examined him carefully, and Cartman shrank back, just barely. A faint blush still on his cheeks. He was genuinely embarrassed by the apology. Kyle's mind flashed briefly to dog training techniques and their proven effect on Cartman, and he made a decision to try some positive reinforcement.

“No, no,” Kyle said quickly. “I'm glad you apologized. Thank you. I'm sorry for, uh. Acting weird about it.”

“Oh,” said Cartman. “Okay, cool.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Alcohol please.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but handed over the bottle. Cartman took it, still looking pleased with himself while Kyle tried to process what had just happened. Cartman apologized to him, and not because he'd been threatened with violence. That was pretty revolutionary. A full month of inpatient... Did that actually have an effect on him? If Kyle had to guess he'd say someone like Cartman would need at least a good five years of intensive therapy to reach any semblance of normality. But according to Kenny and Stan, everyone else was already noticing a difference.

To be fair, the bar _was_ pretty low.

“What else did you learn in therapy?” Kyle said, feigning apathy. Cartman didn't have a great track record of engaging in intimate conversations, so he tried to tread carefully. He berated himself for being just a bit too invested in the response.

_You should know by now not to expect anything from him._

“Not much,” Cartman scoffed. “Loads of bullshit heaped on more bullshit. Wrapped in bullshit. Served on a bullshit platter, _by_ bullshit.” He fidgeted with the champagne bottle, tearing at the foil, and shrugged. “And some stuff about honesty, I guess.”

“Honesty,” Kyle repeated.

“Yeah, you know,” Cartman said. “Like, about. Being honest about feelings.”

“You can do that?”

“Pfft. Not really,” Cartman sighed. “That's some advanced next level shit.”

“Shockingly,” Kyle said, “you're actually doing pretty good at it, right now.”

Cartman coughed into his fist and pulled at his collar.

“Geez, Kyle, enough with the Jewish Inquisition,” Cartman said. And at Kyle's death glare, “right, no Jew jokes.”

“Yeah, forget what I said earlier,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “You're still a huge asshole.”

“Even though I just bared my soul to you? Harsh, bro. You're the one who said I'm dope at being honest.”

“I spoke too soon, clearly.” He raised an eyebrow in disdain.

“Reigning champ of the honesty Olympics over here,” Cartman said. “Prove me wrong, Kyle."

“Oh, please,” said Kyle, “I bet you $20 you won't answer my next question.”

“Deal, lay it on me,” Cartman said silkily.

“How much do you weigh?” Kyle challenged.

“Urk,” Cartman grimaced. “Kyle, that's cheating!”

“How is that cheating?”

“Alright, _fine_! 250 pounds,” Cartman said loudly, smoothing back his hair, “if you really wanna know so badly.” Kyle burst out laughing.

“That's not funny, Kyle!"

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Kyle said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I really didn't expect you to answer, but it just warms my heart that no matter what changes, you'll always be a fat-ass.”

“Okay, new rule, if I'm not allowed to call you a Jew, you can't call me a fat-ass.” Cartman pouted. “Fair's fair, Kyle.”

“It's not the same thing, like, at all,” Kyle said, recovering, “but okay. Fair's fair.”

“And we're banning tirades on ethics and morality.” Now Cartman was pushing his luck.

“They're not 'tirades', and I only ever yell at you because you're being an annoying douchebag,” Kyle countered.

“Whatever,” Cartman said. “But how come you get to ask me my weight, which is super rude by the way, and I can't ask you anything?”

“I never said you couldn't.”

“Well, in that case,” Cartman pounced, “what's up with you and Bebe?”

“What?” Kyle laughed, taken off guard. Since when did Cartman take an interest in his romantic life? “I didn't know there was anything 'up' with me and Bebe.”

Cartman's cheeks turned pink.

“I'm not deaf. She said she was waiting for her New Year’s kiss!” Cartman said. “Plus, I overheard Annie make a comment to her about your ass the other day. So, are you guys like,” Cartman made a gesture with his hands that had Kyle slapping his arm, “or what?”

“Believe me, nothing's going on,” Kyle scoffed. “Bebe being Bebe, as usual. She told me she just broke up with Clyde, and started making eyes at me. But I don’t really do the rebound thing anymore.” He gave Cartman an annoyed look that went ignored.

“But you and her came to the party together,” Cartman insisted.

“She said she needed a ride,” Kyle shrugged. He paused to consider. “You were paying attention to all that?”

“Of course,” Cartman said, like it was obvious, “I pay attention to everything you do.”

Kyle's chest fluttered. The champagne taking effect.

“Hope you worked through that in therapy,” he said. The tone of his voice came out much more seriously than he expected. Cartman shifted his weight and looked nauseous.

For a second Kyle actually thought Cartman was going to be sick and figured he'd had too much to drink. It would make sense; the champagne was already more than half gone between the two of them and he knew Cartman had been going drink-for-drink with at least two other people at the party.

But Cartman just took a deep breath and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“My therapist said I insult people to get attention and start conflicts when I feel bored and lonely. You're smart enough to keep up with me and obsessive about proving me wrong, so I can count on you being around as long as I'm an asshole. In a way having you hate me is comforting. Is what she said.” Cartman cleared his throat. “That's ten down from last year, by the way.”

“What?” Kyle was stunned.

“My weight. 250 pounds,” Cartman said. He smoothed his hair back again, hands slightly unsteady. “That's ten less than last year.”

They were both silent for a full minute, which must have been some kind of record.

“You talked about me a lot in therapy,” Kyle said finally. It wasn't a question.

“Jesus fuck, it's hot in here,” Cartman said. “Even with the window already, well. Open.” He undid the top button on his shirt and Kyle watched his throat bob as he took another sip of champagne.

When Kyle took the bottle back, he kept an eye on Cartman and waited for him to continue their conversation. So far he'd been almost alarmingly straightforward. Kyle barely knew what to make of Cartman’s confessional monologue. But instead of speaking, Cartman whipped out a joint and a lighter printed with the Cancer symbol.

“Oh, come on,” Kyle said, throwing his hand up in the air. “After giving me so much shit for not smoking you up? Seriously? You had booze _and_ a joint the whole time?

“I had to come prepared, Kyle,” Cartman said, “in case this party sucked balls, which,” he gestured around the bathroom, “it pretty clearly does.”

He lit the joint with practiced motions and inhaled deeply. Kyle fanned himself; Cartman was right, the temperature was still high even with the broken window. He rolled up the sleeves on his button-up, exposing his forearms. Cartman choked on his next inhale.

“Don't hack up a lung,” Kyle said, raising an eyebrow.

“Screw you,” Cartman gasped. “You get higher if you cough, anyway.” He held the joint out to Kyle.

“Oh. Thanks.” Kyle took it, eyeing Cartman.

“Don't hog it, Kahl,” Cartman said. Every once and a while his voice still slipped back into his old inflection. “Puff, puff, pass. Even I wouldn't break that most sacred of rules.”

Kyle took a hit, held it and blew it out the hole in the window.

“Is this what the doctor ordered?” he said sarcastically.

“Nah,” Cartman said. He took a step to the toilet and sat down on the closed seat. “But Google says it doesn't interfere with Abilify, so it's cool.”

At a loss for words a second time that night, Kyle simply took his hit and handed the joint back to Cartman.

“I remember when you wouldn't even consider smoking,” Kyle said eventually. “Y'know, since it was for dirty hippies?”

“Times have changed,” Cartman said. He exhaled lazily, hardly bothering to blow the smoke towards the window. “Libertarians and gun activists get high as fuck now and brag about it, too.”

“I wouldn't really call you either of those things,” Kyle scoffed.

“Nope,” Cartman said, smiling. “I'm a true original who resists categorization. Glad you know me so well.”

Kyle actually laughed at that, a real, genuine laugh, and Cartman looked a little too gratified. Kyle swallowed.

“I thought about you too,” he said quickly, before he could think better of it, and paused, took another hit off the joint. “While you were at inpatient.” Cartman said nothing, so Kyle continued. “I was worried about you, you know. Typical of you to pull that kind of publicity stunt. But you didn't tell anyone where you went. We had to hear it from Butters like, a week later, that you were committed. And when you got back...” He sighed. “I don't know.” He ran his hand through his hair, nervous. The weed was clouding his judgment, making him ramble. “Maybe Stan and Kenny...” He cut himself off, handed the joint back to Cartman, and fiddled with his sleeves again.

“Stan and Kenny?” Cartman asked. He sucked on the joint, watching Kyle's actions intently. Kyle looked up to meet his face for a moment, saw his dark eyes, and immediately averted his gaze.

“Oh, come on, Kyle,” Cartman urged, “I just spilled my guts.”

“Whatever,” Kyle said flippantly, “you'll probably just twist it around on me and use it as blackmail.”

“Okay, Jesus,” Cartman huffed, “I just thought, y'know. A little quid pro quo might be nice. Fair's fair.”

Kyle hesitated. Fair's fair. And hadn't Cartman been fair? And would it be so bad if he knew what Stan and Kenny had said? It was all bullshit, anyway. No reason for him to be nervous.

“They were being stupid,” Kyle said slowly. “They were saying I was--” he gestured between them, “that we had a--” God, he just couldn't say it. And why _was_ it so hard?

Why was it so hard to say if it wasn't true?

“They said we had a thing,” Kyle said finally, “in that way.” He coughed.

“In what way?” Cartman said, eyes wide. He was letting the joint burn out in his fingers, a little smoke still trailing off the end.

“Do _not_ make me say it,” Kyle warned.

A beat of silence as Kyle felt heat creep up his face.

If Stan and Kenny's theory was such a big joke, why wasn't Cartman laughing?

“Well,” Cartman rubbed the back of his neck, “I guess I don't think that would be so bad." He lowered his voice. "If we did have a thing, in that way.”

Kyle felt his heart leap into his throat and his hand flew to his chest.

“Excuse me?” he said, voice faltering.

“I'm just saying, Kyle,” Cartman stood from his seat and brushed off the thighs of his pants where some ash had fallen, “that we both know we're the two smartest people in this backwater town, we make a kickass team, and I'm pretty sure if we wanted to we could take over the fucking world.”

Cartman walked over to hand what was left of the joint to Kyle. Their fingers brushed and Kyle inhaled sharply, something turning in his gut. Cartman looked at him, hesitated, and left his hand there.

”And you don’t think there’d be something wrong with that?” Kyle managed, their eyes locked. 

“Never took you for a homophobe,” Cartman said. He still hadn’t moved his hand. Kyle's throat felt dry.

“That’s not why,” Kyle said, faltering. Of course that wouldn’t be why. There were plenty of other good reasons. Ones he was having trouble thinking of at the moment. His palms were sweating.

“You always make things so complicated, Kyle," Cartman said softly, gaze steady. "Sometimes people just want something.”

From through the door came the sound of thirty voices screaming in harmony.

“TEN!”

Cartman leaned forward.

“What are you doing?” Kyle whispered. His heart was threatening to pop out of his chest.

“NINE!"

“Being your New Year's kiss,” Cartman said decisively.

“EIGHT!”

“I can't,” Kyle said, barely audible. The weed was making his head spin.

“SEVEN!”

“You have six seconds to say no,” said Cartman.

“SIX!”

“And then I'm kissing you.” Kyle could tell by the look in his eyes he was serious.

“FIVE!”

Kyle stared at him. An infinite number of dismissive remarks died on his tongue.

“FOUR!”

Then he shut his eyes.

“THREE!”

Cartman's fingers closed around his hand. The joint fell to the tile floor.

“TWO!"

Kyle let out a breath, shuddered. His knees grew weak. Cartman drew even closer, the broken glass from the window crunching under his feet.

“ONE!”

Exactly at midnight, he placed a hand on the small of Kyle's back, and pressed their lips together.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

A champagne bottle popped in the living room. Thirty teenagers downed what was left in their solo cups. Butters tried to kiss Red and got slapped. But Kyle didn't hear any of it.

He just felt Cartman's mouth on his, one hand still pressing into Kyle's lower back, his other hand cradling the side of Kyle's face. Kyle made a soft sound and, without thinking, raised his hand to grab the back of Cartman's neck, pulling him closer. Cartman grunted appreciatively, shifting so his thigh was between Kyle's legs. He rocked them together once and sent a jolt of electricity through Kyle's groin.

And Jesus fucking Christ, he was really going to get hard from this.

Kyle's hand moved on its own to lie on Cartman's chest. He deepened the kiss, opening his mouth, suddenly so hungry for it, and Cartman returned in kind. He lowered his hand to grip Kyle's ass. Kyle bit down lightly on Cartman's lip and Cartman sighed in response. Kyle felt like he was losing his mind. His nerves were on fire where Cartman touched his skin, begging him to keep kissing, keep touching. But then Cartman pulled back, Kyle instinctively leaning forward, still seeking contact. Cartman held him at arm's length and searched his eyes.

“Will you touch my dick?” he asked, panting.

“What the hell?” Kyle jerked back. He looked down at Cartman's pants and saw they were tented. “No way!”

“Oh, come on, Kyle,” Cartman breathed eagerly. His eyes flashed over Kyle's face and down his body, desire obvious. “I'll touch yours. Don't be chickenshit.”

“I'm not,” Kyle protested weakly. Cartman's thumb brushed over his upper arm and he almost shivered.

“Then prove it,” Cartman taunted. He already had one hand on Kyle's zipper. Kyle let him keep it there.

“I--uh. Okay,” Kyle said softly. His hand hovered over Cartman's crotch for a second, Cartman holding his breath in anticipation, until Kyle slowly started unbuttoning his pants. He slid his fingers between the pants and Cartman's red boxers, feeling Cartman arch into him. He bit his lip.

“Oh fuck,” Cartman said shakily, “shit, Kyle, you're so fucking hot.” He dropped his mouth to the crook of Kyle's neck, hot breath on Kyle's skin, and started palming Kyle through his jeans. “Your ass looks so fucking good in these jeans. I've been staring at it all night.”

A small part of Kyle was screaming at the absurdity of all this, Cartman complimenting his ass, them making out with each other, him liking it. An extremely small part. The rest was too intoxicated or aroused to care.

Cartman snuck his hand under Kyle's briefs and Kyle shivered, pushing forward, inviting Cartman's touch.

“Jesus,” Cartman said, “you're hard for this too.” He sounded like he almost didn’t believe it. He gripped Kyle's dick and started stroking slowly, up and down. His thumb fingered the tip attentively. Kyle's head fell back against the wall as he surrendered to the feeling. “That feel good?” Cartman murmured.

“Y-yeah,” Kyle grunted. It felt better than good. Cartman knew what he was doing. But somehow Kyle was sure he had never done this before. The thought made another rush of warm blood pool between his legs.

“Take mine out, too,” Cartman begged. He looked desperate.

“Don't tell me what to do,” Kyle breathed, but still complied. He reached into Cartman's boxers and pulled the waistband down. Cartman moaned when Kyle's skin touched his, Kyle stroking the head of his dick and bringing precum down the shaft.

“Oh my fucking god, Kyle,” Cartman babbled, “your hand feels so fucking good, I can't believe I get to do this,” he brought his other hand up to tug at Kyle's curls, brought his mouth against the shell of his ear. “after so fucking long, I finally get to--”

Cartman cut himself off by angling for another passionate kiss, his hand picking up the pace. Kyle relaxed and kissed back, all critical thinking on pause. All he knew was how good Cartman felt in his palm, thrusting slightly, how much he didn't want Cartman's hand to stop.

“I'm gonna cum,” Cartman said against Kyle's lips. “Your hand feels so good. You feel too good. You feel perfect.”

“Me too,” Kyle said. That was all he could manage. How could Cartman be rambling on like that? Kyle was lost in a haze, submitting to the moment.

All at once he reached his peak, jerking, spilling over Cartman's hand. With a groan, Cartman followed seconds after, thrusting his way through his orgasm, and Kyle felt his hot cum drip over his fingers as he stood, panting, bracing himself against the windowsill with his other hand.

They leaned against each other in silence, catching their breath, as Kyle tried not to let his thoughts race and ruin the afterglow. Eventually, Cartman pulled back to look Kyle in the face, dark eyes satisfied.

“Happy New Year,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Kyle woke up to someone wretching two feet away from him and his face pressed into Cartman's armpit.

Both his legs were asleep, with Cartman's weighing his down. He realized they were lying curled up in a bath tub. For one blissful second, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes in ignorant confusion.

Then he was hit full blast with a wave of nausea, a killer headache, and the crystal-clear memory of what happened last night. He jerked up. His eyes scanned over Cartman, still asleep. Pants still unbuttoned.

The little part of his brain that had put up a fight the night before and thought 'hey, hooking up with Cartman in a drunken stupor, maybe not such a bright idea' was dialed up to full volume now. It was not doing wonders for his hangover. Mercifully, someone spoke before his anxiety could fully consume him.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

Hunched over the toilet bowl, Bebe wiggled her fingers at Kyle with a tired grin on her face. Her make-up was smeared and one strap of her tank top was hanging loosely off her arm. At least her straightened hair had held up surprisingly well.

“This isn't what it looks like," Kyle said.

She opened her mouth to respond and instead turned to throw up in the toilet again. Kyle winced.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you?” he asked.

“Same thing that happens every New Year’s,” Bebe said carelessly. “I had a great fucking time.” She wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand and held her phone up. “Say cheese.”

Kyle squinted and shielded his face as the flash went off and Bebe smiled gleefully.

“I guess you didn't need me for that New Year’s kiss, huh?” she chided, still grinning as she typed on her phone. “I was hoping it'd take at least till Valentine's Day. That's what I had money on, anyway.”

“Post that on Facebook and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Kyle hissed. He doubted the huge bags under his eyes made his threat very convincing.

“I would never,” said Bebe innocently, “I already posted a selfie on Insta earlier.”

She waved her phone in Kyle's face. He willed himself to squint at the screen through his massive headache and a picture of him and Cartman swam into focus, cuddled up together in the tub, his arm thrown over Cartman's chest. There was a dark stain where Cartman was drooling on his shirt. Bebe was seated on the edge of the tub in front of them clapping her hand over her mouth, looking scandalized and awfully chipper for someone who was just about to puke her brains out.

A filter had been added that gave all three of them party hats.

Kyle read the description, terror mounting.

 **183 likes**  
**bebecakes** Kiss the one you hold dear this New Year!  <3 <3  
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**kennymccockmick** @catman666 @pointguardkyle you're welcome

“Oh my god,” he whispered, “I am so completely fucked.”

“I'll say,” came a voice from the tub. "You look like shit in that picture."

Kyle and Bebe jumped as Cartman groaned and stretched his arms.

“Fuck,” said Cartman blearily, fighting to keep his eyes open. Kyle watched as he slowly rose up on his elbows, wobbling. He looked like death. His hair stuck up at odd angles, careful part long forgotten, and last night's eyeliner left him with raccoon eyes. He took a closer look at the phone screen and shrugged. “If the cat’s out of the bag anyway, we should really give them a better photo than that.”

He looped an arm around Kyle's neck and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Kyle's heart skipped a beat and Bebe's flash went off again.

“By the way, Clyde is gonna kill you for that broken window,” Bebe said, delighted, typing rapidly.

Despite his poor appearance, Cartman managed to fix Kyle with a sultry wink.

He really was completely, unbelievably fucked.

 

 


End file.
